


Stitches in Scarlet

by vanillafluffy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Western, Clever John Watson, Doctor John Watson, First Meetings, Gambling, Gen, John Watson Makes Deductions, Sherlock Holmes Makes Deductions, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, sherlock as Card-sharp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: For a prompt that requested Sherlock and John in a Western AU setting. Their first meeting is under unusual circumstances.





	Stitches in Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).

“Somehow, I expected better,” the man in the brocade waistcoat drawls.

Looking up from the nasty gash on his patient’s arm, Dr. John Watson sets down the needle he’s just finished stitching it with. “It’s only a scratch, hardly a medical challenge.” He unrolls a length of cotton bandage to cover the sutures. “No need to over-dramatize.”

“No, no,” the dark-haired man rolls his sleeve down over the dressing and buttons the cuff. The linen shows a crimson splotch where the drunk’s bottle had slashed it. “Ever since I arrived in Bakersfield, I’ve been hearing about the town’s ‘mysterious’ doctor.” He pulls out his pocket watch, checks the time and purses his lips. “You were brought up and educated in New York City, traveled extensively on the Continent--particularly France, where you still maintain contacts. You served with distinction in the War Between the States, which is where you received the injury that sometimes flares up. Really, I see very little that’s mysterious about you.”

“Not bad,” John acknowledges, amused. His eagle-eyed patient has deduced more about John in twenty minutes than the town has learned in the five months he’s been here.

“You aren’t going to ask how I did it?”

“My accent is fairly distinctive, my diploma is hanging on the wall, the stick I use from time to time is in the hatstand and I presume you noticed that I’m reading Verne in the original French. Since that particular volume was released a scant three months ago and is not yet available in English, you may surmise that I received it via an old friend who thought I would enjoy it, which I do.”

The doctor smiles. His patient regards him with one arched eyebrow; clearly he did not expect John’s response. Putting the needle to soak in a pan of alcohol, he continues.

“Folks in these parts like to say we say, share news about newcomers to town. If a fellow doesn’t talk about himself, they’ll invent things. For instance, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, professional card-sharp, I might say that that you were born and bred in Boston and educated at Oxford. After your family suffered financial reverses, you drifted around Europe until you won enough at the gaming tables to secure your passage back to the States. Upon your return, you were disowned by your family for your vices, although you still have a tentative relationship with your older brother, who is doing quite well. I might say that, but I’m not prone to gossip. Oh, and if you go to Hop Sing’s opium den, I recommend you leave that handsome watch of yours in a safe place.”

Holmes chuckles. “Touche! It’s rare to find another individual whose powers of observation are so well-honed. Not everyone would have noted the soup-and-fish token on my watch chain.”

“Or the regimental insignia on mine. It’s an invaluable skill for a medical man, I assure you. Patients have a tendency to lie or omit facts which can have an impact on the results of their treatment, such as the use of patent medicines or with whom they have come into contact. Although in your case, it’s fairly obvious that someone who lost money to you didn’t take it well.”

The gambler nods thoughtfully. “And how did you surmise my family’s finances?”

“Your family had funds enough to send you to Oxford--one would presume that you were equipped with a suitable wardrobe at that time. However, while you were there, you experienced your final growth spurt and by then, there was no money to procure a replacement overcoat. The one you’re wearing is a British officer’s coat issued during the Crimean conflict. Since you’re far too young to have been eligible for military service at that time, I can safely conclude that it was affordable and practical for you to acquire it. The fact that you’re still wearing it points to either sentimental attachment or that well-known Bostonian habit of wearing things out regardless of fashion.”

“A bit of both,” Sherlock acknowledges, standing and reaching for the coat hanging beside the door. The blood on his sleeve is slowly drying to a dull brown. “I gather you observed the inscription when I checked the time…how did you infer that it was presented by my brother? Perhaps I have a sister.”

“Perhaps you do,” John ripostes, washing his hands with water from the pitcher on the washstand. “If so, she’s made quite an advantageous marriage--that gold timepiece is worthy of a railroad baron! Since its chain is heavy and masculine in style, that suggests it was selected by an affluent individual of like mind…and that inscription? ‘Time to grow up, little brother’? No, I would say that he had already completed his education before your family’s setbacks and offered up that watch as proof that he has done well for himself.”

A rueful sigh. “True enough. Galling as the message is, the watch itself keeps excellent time, and hints that I have means even when funds are spare. A prosperous image is a useful thing.”

“If you’re planning to stay in Bakersfield for any length of time, Holmes, you might wish to take up lodgings in a calmer and less expensive place than Daggett’s Hotel. Although you may be winning, sometimes the appearance of penury is useful as well.”

“Oh? Do you recommend this place, then? Is the landlady a decent cook, or is she too preoccupied with dusting the woodwork and beating the carpets?”

“Mrs. Hudson keeps a tidy house and sets an adequate table. It hardly equals the repasts of Paris, but the beef is local, the produce is fresh and the servings are generous. Also, I happen to know that the room across the hall is available, owing to the death of Roger Ackroyd. He was stabbed over some gambling debts.”

“And you couldn’t save him?” Sherlock inquires with irony.

“By the time I arrived, the man was dead of blood loss,” Watson shakes his head. “Given the severity of his injuries, I doubt it would have helped if I’d been in the room with my medical bag at the time.”

“You’re an honest fellow, at any rate. Will you introduce me to your Mrs. Hudson?” Holmes asks, one hand on the doorknob. The greatcoat is folded over his arm, and he looks weary. “This boarding house seems altogether more congenial than the ambiance at Daggett’s.”

“Certainly. And if you like, I’ll let you borrow the Verne after I’ve done with it.”

“Mas oui, merci.”

...


End file.
